Just stay with me
by starbuxx
Summary: A drunken Roy misses work.. causing worried coworkers to fret. But his right-hand lady is there to take good care of her colonel... RoyxRiza Royai


-1Yes. This is a fanfic. This being a fanfic means I don't own the characters. Kay??  
XD Enjoy!!

Roy Mustang was lying in his bedroom, looking up at an invisible something embedded in the ceiling. He had a bottle of scotch in one hand, slowly draining the vile liquid and emptying the bottle into his system. Empty bottles of beer and other various liquor products rolled across the floor. His uniform was in disarray; his military jacket open and undershirt sloppily exposed. A look that can only simply be described as sad shrouded his usually handsome face. Memories. He was trying to drown away the memories, the pain, in anyway possible. He sighed, and downed the rest of the scotch.

He realized that he had emptied the entire stock of alcohol in his bedroom, so he ventured downstairs quite wobbly. He had consumed close to deadly amounts of alcohol, and his mind and body didn't act in sync. He stumbled off the stairs and to the counter, where a half empty bottle of whisky was placed for easy access. He could barely open the bottle before downing a large portion of the drink. He decided that that was all he needed, and attempted to go back upstairs and try to get some sleep. Attempt, that is. His vision was shot and he fell into the nearest arm chair, and promptly passed out.

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First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye had a day off today. She was dressed in a dark brown blazer, a deep burgundy top, and a pair of jeans. Of course, a gun was in a leg holster. Would you expect any different? She had no real plans for the day, but she needed to get some errands done. She picked up her black bag and was about to head out, but her exit was interrupted by a phone call. "Uggh… Who could that be?" she said out loud, for no one was around but her dog, Black Hayate. She did not normally get phone calls, especially as early as it was on a Saturday. "Hello? Hawkeye residence?" she answered the phone, formally as ever. "Hey, Hawkeye," Breda said on the other line. Riza was curious to why he called. "Hey.. Have you seen the colonel? He was supposed to come into work today, but he never showed." Breda told the lieutenant. Riza pondered for a moment for his possibly whereabouts: the bar? No, it was way to early, even for him. Home sleeping? Quite probable. A date? She shuddered at the last part. She didn't ever really like the thought of someone with her colonel. Her colonel. She already started calling him 'her's.' Her thoughts trailed off… "Lieutenant?" Breda asked again, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Oh, ummm, no. I do not believe that I know where he is, but I pass by his apartment on my way to the store, so I can check up on him, if he's there." Breda thanked her and hung up. She started on her way, again.

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Riza was walking on the sidewalk, sun shining radiantly on her golden hair, which was for once freed from that Godforsaken pin. She was walking, straight and tall and steady, as always. She was deep in thought over many details: paperwork, Hayate, paying the rent, the colonel… She abruptly shook her head to stop any preceding thoughts in their tracks. She looked up and realized that she was at the colonel's address. She walked up the steps and to the door. "Colonel?" she said as she knocked politely at the door. "Sir? Are you there? You were scheduled to go to work today." She got no answer, and decided to turn around and get back to her errands. As she turned, though, she heard a groan from inside. A pang of fear struck her heart, as she turned back quickly to the door. "Colonel?!" she asked again, but still no reply. She searched around for a key. 'Under the mat…' she considered, and not to her surprise, it was there. 'He would be to lazy to remember where it was hidden if it were somewhere else.' She chuckled at the thought, and then remembered what was going on, regained serious composure, and opened the door.

"Colonel? Colonel!!" she looked at the sorry sight in front of her. A drunken colonel, clinging to a bottle of booze, passed out with a clear hangover. One of the most powerful men in Central, passed out from alcohol consumption.

"Uhhh…." Roy moaned. He was in obvious pain and discontent. His head was throbbing, and any noise as quiet as a rustle of curtains seemed to him like a firing of a machine gun near his head.

"Oh… Sir.." She looked at him pitifully. She decided that the best thing to do was to lie him down. She knew that carrying him upstairs to his bedroom was out of the question, but moving him to the sofa seemed manageable. Or so she thought.

She removed the beer from his hand and put an arm firmly around his waist and slowly moved him to the sofa. He made it difficult, though; the amount of alcohol he consumed made his body limp and uncooperative. The whole time he was grunting and moaning in pain. His stomach was retching and contorting into knots. He smelt of the strong, pungent stench of scotch and whiskey.

She placed him onto the couch, and spread him onto it. She tried to stand back up, but realized a strong, unconscious, drunken arm was keeping her down. She uncoiled herself from his grasp, and went to find him a blanket. She went upstairs to the bedroom, in search of something to keep him warm. She walked into his bedroom and the sight utterly appalled her. A messed up, untidy room with a strong sent of alcohol wafting from it. Bottles of emptied assorted alcoholic drinks rolled around the room. She promptly backed up and left the room, actually forgetting what she went up there for.

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Roy woke up with a throbbing, pounding head and a sore body. He felt as if he was beaten by thugs with bats, while totally defenseless. He felt a warm, wet something across his forehead. He slowly and shakily raised his hand to his head, revealing that the something was actually was a moist towel, gently laid across his forehead, attempting to relieve any pain. And there was much to relieve. He slowly wobbled himself into an upright position, a hand clutching his aching head through tousled black hair, his eyes half open, vision still blurred.

"Uggggggghhh…." he moaned again, and looked up into the kitchen. To his surprise, he found a stunning blond boiling something on the stove. She turned to him after pouring a steaming cup of tea, and started to walk toward him. As she approached, his vision set into focus and recognized the woman. "Haw-keye?" He inquired as he stumbled over his words.

"Sir, you did not arrive at work today. Breda called and asked me to check up on you." she told him as she placed a warm cup of tea in his fumbling hands.

"Hmmm? Oh, thanks." he said. He didn't even care that his subordinates were treating him like a child. All of his thoughts currently consisted of was his horrible aching head and the beautiful lieutenant in front of him.

She stood before him. "Sir, it is unhealthy to do that to yourself," she lectured him; stern, yet loving in a far-off, distant, foreign way. He just looked into his scolding cup of tea, enjoying the warmth and his lieutenant's company. She simply just sighed, and took a seat next to him on the couch.

"Why?" he implied.

"I should be asking you that question, sir." was her response, formal as ever.

"Why. Why do the memories come back. They are quite daunting, are they not?" he replied to her in a melancholy yet casual way.

"Sir, you can never fully forget your past, and we cannot undo what has been done. All we can do is move foreword." she gently replied. He was about to start to say something, when he found his head lying rather comfortably on his lieutenant's lap, with her saying, " It's best if you get some rest, sir." He was still in shock of how close he was to her; her scent, her beauty, her… everything. It all amazed him, yet he couldn't tell if it was the disorientation that made him think such uncalled for thoughts. He shook the thought out of his head, and fell asleep on her lap. A hand gently stroked through his tousled, ebony hair to comfort him into his sleep; the other hand lay on his chest; he had consumed so much alcohol that she wanted to make sure he was still breathing.

As he slept on, she thought of her next move. 'Should I call the doctor? No. If this gets out, it can devastate his reputation. Hmmm…. ' her thought continued to drift off, mostly about him.

Hours past into the day, and Roy lay drunken on her lap, still. He regained a sliver of consciousness, but refused to open his eyes, which were still sensitive to both movement and light. His body started to wake up, as some senses returned. He felt a slender, gentle hand placed on his chest. He felt it rise and fall with his breathing. It took him a while to figure out why it was there, but when he figured it out, he decided to test a certain lieutenant's patience.

Riza suddenly felt her hand's rising and falling motion come to an abrupt halt. "Sir? Colonel!" she started calling to him. Her hands were now on his shoulders, as if to entice him to come back to the realm of the conscious. A playful, sly smile made its way slowly across the colonel's face as he suppressed a rather amused chuckle.

" That's not funny," she hissed at him. He opened his eyes only to see a worried, yet angered, lieutenant looking down at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. The sight he induced made himself recoil at the thought of his insensitive behavior.

"Oh, R-Riza. I didn't mean to-"

"Shut up!" She commanded him. "You sick bastard." Those last words stung at him more than the pain of his severe hangover. He couldn't make out what his next move would be. All he knew is that he screwed up, big time.

"Riza… I didn't mean to make you cry… I'm so sorry." he cooed at her. Tears still rolled down her cheeks. She looked away from him. After a while, her hand made it back through his hair. She couldn't stay mad at him. Not him. Especially not in his current state.

Roy was saddened by his horrible stunt. He cuddled his head into her lap, whispering to her a few "I'm sorry" 's before drifting off into sleep.

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Roy woke up only an hour and a half later. He looked up to see Riza, contently sleeping quietly, a hand still in his hair. He watched her for a few, long moments. ' Wow… She has her hair down. It is surely an improvement compared to that damned hair clip.' His mind numbly wandered on. ' I've never seen her sleep before,' he thought quietly to himself. Sure enough, he didn't see her do a lot of things. 'Come to think of it, I've never seen her sleep, I've never seen her shirk her duties, I've ever seen her doodle on important papers,' all actions he preformed on a regular basis. His mind wandered on, 'I've never seen her in a dress, I've never seen her dance, I've never seen her in another man's arms..' He pondered at that last thought, before mentally stopping his mind from this seemingly innocent 'wandering.' 'No Roy! Bad Mustang, Bad!' he chided himself. 'even thinking such thoughts will end up with a couple rounds whizzing by my head. Lord knows how many guns she has strapped to her body. Hmm.. Strapped to her body… NO!!!' He realized that as a result of his racing mind, his hangover-induced headache returned, and with vengeance.

He looked over to the counter where a bottle of booze taunted him. 'Hmm… Maybe a sip, just a sip, could ease this hell of a headache.' He gently rose off the lieutenant's lap, attempting to keep his unstable body under control, using all the coordination he had to not disturb the couch and keep her and her pistols asleep.

He sloppishly walked over to the counter. Just as his hand was about to wrap around the golden bottle, a shot rang out. In a blink of an eye, glass and whiskey cascaded off the counter and onto the floor, leaving but the neck of the bottle in his hand, nothing more.

"Holy.." he started to curse out. His eyes darted to the lieutenant, who was sitting on the couch, wide awake, with a smoking pistol in one hand and a cross, stern expression on her face.

"Sir, what do you think you are doing! Anymore of that vile liquid could put an end to you!" she scolded him coldly.

A purely pissed-off expression remained on his face as he walked back to her. Well, tried to, at least. He tripped over air and started to fall, clenching on to the counter as his only support. "Colonel!" Riza yelled as she rushed to him. She put his arm around her neck and he put one about her waist. Her other hand supported his waist, as well.

She struggled to carry him back to the couch, with little help from him. They seemed to just flop onto the couch, exhausted from their 'journey.' But, the lieutenant's head was propped on the arm of the couch, since she was lying on it, as a dazed colonel lay on her, his head close to her face and resting near her neck.

"Colonel, I--" her sentence broke off as he spoke to her. " It is alright lieutenant. I am quite comfortable, actually. If you don't mind, that is." She could tell he was smiling a sinister, yet sexy smile in her favor, and sure he was. The lieutenant complied as he dozed off, his body still resting on top of her.

She was rather comfortable, as well. She enjoyed the way her heart raced when he touched her, she enjoyed his scent, after getting past the alcohol, that is. She enjoyed, most of all, his company. Her arm rested across his back as another hand ruffled though his hair. Her movements were subconscious, and she forgot all about the fraternization rule, about if they were seen in such a compromising position that they could both loose their jobs.

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A harsh ringing of the phone brought them both out of their peace. She swung her body around, reaching for the phone that rested on the end table near the couch's armrest, clearly disturbing and alarming the sleeping figure laying on her. "Hello? Mustang residence?" she answered. "Hey.. Wait.. Hawkeye? What are you still doing there?" It was Breda. "Oh, the colonel had consumed a deadly amount of alcohol last night, and I am making sure he doesn't dip into any more of the vile liquid. I am here looking after him, as he may not return to work for another day or so, judging by the hangover." she replied. "Oh, I see," was Breda's simple reply. No curt response or jest made. He wondered if bullets could somehow whiz through telephone lines. "Please, Breda. Lets keep this between you and me, for I fear this could ruin him." Breda complied, swore his word to her, and ended the conversation.

She turned over to see Mustang in a jostled position and a stern, confused expression as a result of her sudden movement. "I apologize, colonel. That was only Breda, checking in on you." she informed him of his subordinates' worry.

"Oh." was his only reply. He sat upright, hand again rustling through his messy hair. He was slightly hunched over, still in obvious discomfort.

"Would you like me to get you anything, colonel?" Riza politely and formally inquired. "No thank you, lieutenant, for I am quite sure a glass of beer is out of the question" was his reply.

She sighed at his request, yet ignored complying to it. He noticed her obvious aggravation, and looked impulsively down at her pistols. Sure, she used those firearms to threaten disorderly subordinates, discipline her dog, and even 'coax' him into finally getting started on her paperwork. They were not weapons to mess with.

An idea, stupid, foolish, yet enticing, wandered into his head. He couldn't resist. He moved toward her and clasped a hand about both of her wrists. She wriggled and shouted in protest, as his other free hand unclasped the leg holster off of her thigh.

She was as defenseless and authoritiless as she was going to get. She shouted at him, reaching for the gun that he put at a safe distance away from her.

Without hesitating, his strong arms wrapped around her waist, her face close to his. She was still struggling to get her gun, and now was impulsively trying to escape his grasp. But he easily overpowered her, and she could foresee that her resistance was to no avail.

"Sir, can you please release me," she asked him, with both of her arms pressing against his. He ignored her plea, and held her even tighter. "I will need to leave, it is getting very late." True enough, she had been at his place for a long, very suspiciously long time.

"No, Riza, I cannot let you go," he replied. He finally had her where he wanted her, in private, where he could tell her how he felt, and he hoped she requited the same emotions.

"Why not?" she curtly asked him.

"Because if I do," he somberly replied, "you will leave, and I don't know if I can handle it." She looked up into his face. He was pouting; not a playful pout, but a sad, longing expression. He was sober, enough, at least; his eyes were clear and focused and his breath was clear of any alcohol. He was sober, and he was telling it how it is. He wanted her there. He needed her there. Yes, he needed his lieutenant. She had always been there for him; when he was drunken and she had to guide him home, when he attempted suicide countless times, when he was injured on the battle field. She had been there, comforting him. Now was no different. He was suffering from loss, from guilt, from those horrible, damning memories.

"Ok sir…" she whispered to him, close into his ear. "I can stay a while, I suppose." She realized that she never got to any of her errands today. But did it matter? No. It felt right to be in his arms, as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. Her arms moved from pressing against him in resistance to across his back and into a tight embrace.

"Thank you, Hawkeye." he whispered to her, "Thank you. You are always there for me, aren't you?" he playfully asked. "Of course, sir. Would you expect any different?" was her reply.

He looked down at her as she looked up. Their lips brushed against each others. Nothing more than the feeling of butterfly wings across the mouth, yet they both felt something. She pulled back slightly as her cheeks flushed a gentle red. "Sir, I-I--" She was cut off by his lips against hers. Roy Mustang was kissing his lieutenant. Thoughts raced through her mind, and his, too. This is wrong. Illegal. We can loose our jobs. What started as an innocent situation went from bad looking to worse looking for their careers. If found now, it would seem like the end. But they cared not, for this is how they were finally able to express their true feelings for each other.

When they finally separated, a light blush still graced her cheeks. But a smile was spread across both of their faces.

A sudden jab of a pistol to his back seemingly ruined the perfect moment. 'What? When the hell did she get her gun back?!' In truth, she was pointing her gun at him from behind, in jest, of course, trying to prove her authority and her ability to handle the current situation. He looked over at the table where her gun lay undisturbed. "Sir, I believe that you should expect me to have more than one firearm, correct?" she playfully asked him. He looked down to finally notice a empty ankle-holster. He chuckled as he drew her back into his arms. "Well, you still surprise me, don't you, Lieutenant?"


End file.
